


Lay Me at the Bottom of the River

by TheWyldeWynd



Category: Far Cry 5
Genre: Aggressive making out, Altered Mental States, And Very Interesting Interpretation of Reality, Baptism, Bliss (Far Cry), Bliss Made Them Do It, Creepy Fluff, Dubious Consent, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Joseph Seed's Mental Issues, No actual sex, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Self-Harm, Sexual Repression, The Author Regrets Nothing, The Deputy deserves none of this, There's A Tag For That, Trauma, WTF, Well Made Her Do It, sorry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-19
Updated: 2018-08-19
Packaged: 2019-06-29 14:25:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15731241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWyldeWynd/pseuds/TheWyldeWynd
Summary: In the darkness of the night, The Voice calls out to its servant, and Joseph Seed answers without a second thought.  But even The Prophet cannot foresee where his loving obedience will lead him, or what he will find at the end of his journey, waiting for him at the river's banks.Oh my Lord take this soul,Lay me at the bottom of the river.The Devil has come to carry me home,Lay me at the bottom... the bottom of the river.





	Lay Me at the Bottom of the River

**Author's Note:**

> _This was supposed to be, like... 1000 words. Tops. It was supposed to be something I'd knock out in an afternoon to take a short break before getting back to my main projects. Why do I think I can write short things? Sigh. Anyway, enjoy!_

The ground is cool and firm beneath his bare feet, the breeze soft and refreshing against his skin, the night lit gently by an ocean of stars and the full moon above, the beautiful sounds of birds and crickets and the faithful’s voices lifted in blessed song echoing gently throughout the woods. For once, everything is calm. Peaceful. Right.

And yet Joseph wanders the woods beyond his parish, heartsick and steps spurred onward by the sense of _wrongness_ that roused him from his rare hours of sleep.

The Spirit is upon him. Not as a Voice this time, no gospel words or songs of praise or prophecies taking form in his heart and mind. Rather, it is a formless siren’s call, an amorphous tune that wraps around him, sinking through his skin and down into his soul, that leads him through the darkness.

Joseph follows the call, devoted and unquestioning as ever. It is not for him to ask why, only to place his trust in God and _obey_.

But Joseph Seed is still a human being – weighed down and hobbled by his sinful flesh. And so, when he comes through the edge of the woods and his eyes light upon a solitary figure kneeling at the river’s bank, when he realizes that he has been led to _The Deputy_ of all people… he has a flash of _doubt_ , the heretical thought flickering through his sinful mind that _maybe_ The Voice has, just this once, made a mistake.

Or, perhaps, that he has failed God in some unspeakable way and has now been led to his Adversary for Atonement.

Just as the blasphemous thought hits him, the song changes – dipping low and pressing against him in gentle admonishment, and the swell of _shame_ at his weakness is enough to bring tears to his eyes. And then the song changes again – soft and soothing in its forgiveness, and when it tugs him gently forward Joseph follows gladly, at peace now as he walks towards The Deputy.

The young woman hasn’t seen him yet, her back turned and attention riveted on… something unseen, something that she seems to be working in her hands, frantically scrabbling in the water. She is so intent, in fact, that Joseph’s approach doesn’t even register, bringing back a sense of disquiet in the Father for entirely new reasons.

His brothers would scream in horror if they saw him. Would rant and rail for him to retreat and call upon reinforcements, call upon his Children to come and restrain The Harbinger. Would curse him as a fool for approaching The Deputy alone and defenseless. But Joseph is not alone. The Voice is with him, wordless whispers inside him urging him forward, counseling that he and he alone must approach her.

And Joseph obeys.

He approaches the abstracted young woman, reaches out his hand, and rests it gently on her shoulder.

She reacts to his touch – several seconds after he makes contact.

The Deputy gasps in shock, in _fear_ , tries to leap away and spin around all at once, only to stumble and collapse into the muddy bank, scrambling drunkenly away as she looks up at him. The eyes that stare up from the mud are unfocused and glazed, two perfect orbs of inky blackness surrounded by thin circles of eldritch green fire, and suddenly things begin to make sense to Joseph. He meets her glassy, confused gaze calmly, opening his mouth to address the Blissed woman… only to stop when something catches his eyes, tugging his gaze down to The Deputy’s arms and hands and, for a moment, sending him spiraling back into a sea of confusion. The young woman’s skin is raw and chaffed, a livid red from her upper arms down to the tips of her fingers, strange cuts and scratches crossing madly over the flesh, and at first the only solution he can think of is that someone’s managed to capture and _torture_ the young woman. And then he sees the crimson staining the tips of her fingers, the little scraps of hair and flesh still trapped under her short, blunt fingernails, and Joseph feels his heart _seize_ in horror and sorrow. Joseph sinks to the ground in front of her, kneeling in the mud as he reaches out and takes her trembling hands in his, staring heartsick at the tortured flesh and the tear filled eyes before him. “Oh child,” tears well up in his own eyes, rolling down his cheeks and falling against her as he brushes his lips against the raw skin, trying to soothe the pain in any degree that he can. “What have you _done_ to yourself?”

“It won’t come off.” 

He freezes at the rasping, unfamiliar voice. Joseph lifts his eyes once more to meet the Deputy’s, the strange thought hitting him that he’s never heard the young woman speak before. 

She isn’t looking at him, eyes focused instead on her brutalized limbs, shuddering and gasping tremulously as her lips part again. “I- it won’t…” The words, unsettlingly flat and toneless within the rural accent, are raw and slurred together, signs of her despair and the Bliss and whatever other substance she must have imbibed to pollute the Bliss tender mercies so horribly. Green ringed pupils don’t waver from her marked skin as her lips work silently for a moment, little staccato gasps and whimpers falling from her before she finally manages to stutter, “It won’t come _off_.”

Joseph’s heart clenches, realization slowly dawning on him. He straightens again, rubbing his thumbs gently on the inside of her wrists, and asks the question he already knows the answer to. “What won’t?”

“The _blood._ ” The tremulous whisper hangs in the air like a gunshot, her eyes still fixed on her trembling hands. On the sanguine stain that exists only in her mind. “It won’t… I _can’t_ …”

The broken whispers, the tear filled eyes, the body trembling and soul wracked by _guilt_ seethe and surge together, cutting through to Joseph’s heart. Blinking away a new flood of tears, he releases one trembling hand, reaches up to gently caress a pale, tear-stained cheek.

The second his hand touches her face she _jolts_ , gasps, eyes flying up from her hands and locking into his own gaze, the black oceans and rings of green fire taking hold of him and burning into his soul. “I can’t stop _seeing_ them.” The admission is louder, a low note of emotion entering her voice, making it thick and heavy in the still night air. “Hearing their screams when they…” Her voice peaks, catches, a sob bubbling up in her throat as a violent shudder wracks her, black abyss and green fire vanishing as she squeezes her eyes shut, head turning and pressing against his hand out of desperation and _need_. “I can’t do this.” The whisper, when it finally comes, is flooded with despair and shame – an admission that momentarily drains all the life from the young woman. “I don’t want to hurt anyone. I’ve never…” The broken, plaintive whimper, the new surge of guilt and shame and desolation, is like a knife to Joseph’s heart. “I just wanted to help people. Keep them safe. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.” Suddenly her eyes are open again, burning into him as her voice rises in a fever pitch of religious fervor – so much like his own when the Spirit descends upon him. “I _need_ to keep them _safe_. I have to protect them, _save_ them, _everyone_. They _need_ me. But I…” The fire rises higher and higher, the words spilling from her lips like a flood, the agonized confession of a martyr whose mission has brought them suffering beyond the limit of human endurance, who has strode deeper into torment and hell regardless, only to be faced with their own fragility when they simply, “ _Can’t._ ” And just like the fire dies, leaving only ashes and emptiness behind. Her voice falls again, soft and weary beyond belief, trembling like a lost, frightened child. “I keep trying to do the right thing… help people… save them… but… I’m not strong enough.” She gasps, sobs, tears flooding back as she looks up at Joseph in despair, “I’m so tired. I’m so _scared_.” Her fingers close around his hand, knuckles going white as she grips him like he is tethering her to reality. “They _need_ me!” The broken wail cuts through the air, cuts through him and claws its way into his heart, the confession ripping its way from the depths of her being and leaving her open, raw, shaking and sobbing before his eyes in the mud, all the strength and power of The Deputy torn away to reveal the innocent child being torn apart underneath its blood-soaked mantle. “ _I’m_ supposed to save them all, and I _can’t_!”

Joseph stares down at The Deputy’s face, breath freezing in his lungs as her heartbroken words wash over him – echoing the tortured prayers that dwell within his own soul.

How many times? How many times has Joseph knelt, _prostrated_ himself, wept and sobbed and screamed those very words? How many times has he begged and pleaded for help, for _deliverance_ from his agony. 

_Please, I can’t do this alone, I’m not strong enough, not wise enough, not kind enough, not **good** enough, please, please, **help me** , please, I can’t fail them, they **need** me but I’m so **afraid** , I don’t know if I can save them, please, don’t let them fall because I’m too weak, please, please, **please** …_

Joseph’s eyes are blinded by tears, trembling and gasping as The Deputy kneels before him in desolation, sobbing his own words in her lilting voice, and he…

He remembers.

He remembers crying out for companionship – and then there was Faith, his wife, lifting him from despair and showing him how to live again.

He remembers crying out for purpose – and then there was John, his baby brother, broken to pieces and desperate to be made whole again.

He remembers crying out for aid – and then there was Jacob, his elder brother, aimless and searching for something and someone to belong to again.

He remembers crying out for mercy – and then there were his children, his flock and his new Faith, looking to him with eyes of love and hearts open to the salvation of a world born anew.

He remembers and he looks through the veil of tears at the young woman before him – The Harbinger, The Destroyer, The Adversary that has waged war against his family and his flock and the very will of God, The Beast that has slaughtered and pillaged and brought ruination upon his Eden to be. The helpless, broken child, brought to her knees by hands stained with blood that only she can see, sobbing the words that Joseph thought plagued his heart alone. The little angel who has fallen deeper and deeper into hell, not from Wrath or Pride or any of the sins that he had imagined stained her soul, but for the same love and devotion and need to _save_ that Joseph himself knows so well, taken and twisted and tainted by the true sinners who have led her astray.

He remembers and his heart breaks anew and he reaches out and takes the blood stained lamb before him into his arms.

She has cried out – and he is here to answer.

The child goes still within his grasp, so still that for a moment Joseph fears her flickering light has been snuffed out. But then, shaking and trembling, she unleashes a broken, agonized _wail_ and surrenders to his embrace.

She clutches at him, buries her face against his shoulder, weeping like the lost and broken child the Bliss has revealed her to be, and Joseph takes all her agony into himself. He pulls her closer and closer, rocks her like a newborn, presses his lips against the crown of her head, then pulls her closer still, tucks his chin over her head as she tries to curl into a ball, tries to sink into his very skin, his mouth falling open and a flood of love and comfort and forgiveness spilling forth, prayers and entreaties and snatches of _Amazing Grace_ filling the air in a voice made raw with sorrow.

Joseph isn’t sure how much time passes, how long he and the child curl and shudder and rock together on the banks of the river, two broken souls lodged in tattered shells that have finally found some degree of comfort in the arms of another who _understands_. But, at long last, he feels her sobs begin to die away, her violent trembling easing within the shelter of his arms, agonized gasps shuddering through the air as she presses her face against him and _breathes_.

He runs a gentle hand over her hair – streaked wet with his own tears – and slowly, still gasping and hiccupping from the tears, his lamb lifts her head, stares up at him with eyes made clear by Bliss and washed clean with tears.

“Help me.”

Just when he thought he had shed all his tears, it seems, this precious child coaxes them out once more. Joseph’s hands tremble as they clasp the sides of her face, thumbs brushing her tears away as he shudders a laugh of pure, overwhelming joy and _smiles_. “Of course.” The Spirit rises within and Joseph obeys with all his heart, pulling her face close and lowering his own to press their foreheads together, tasting her sigh of relief like cool water in the desert. He looks into her eyes, letting all of the love and forgiveness that is overflowing his soul spill into her. “All you ever had to do was ask.”

His child melts into the embrace, sobbing a laugh of startled disbelief and delight, and when Joseph rises to his feet she follows, hand clasped in his and eyes still looking up in stunned, blissful adoration and gratitude.

Joseph smiles at her for a moment longer, tracing his thumb over one wrist while the other hand caresses her cheek, tucking locks of blazing red hair behind her ear. Then, slowly, eyes still locked with hers, Joseph begins to back into the embrace of the river.

And suddenly she freezes.

A startled, frightened gasp escapes his lamb, eyes flying wide as she stares at the river in terror. She’s trembling again, making as though to tug her hand free of his as she whimpers, _“Wait…”_

Unbidden, John’s face flashes before Joseph’s eyes. Sighing, heart aching for his baby brother’s sin-spurred misstep, for the misplaced trust that made such an event necessary for the traumatized lamb before him, he stops moving, easing his thumb over her skin as he refuses to release her hand. “You asked for my help, child.” He keeps his voice soft and understanding and patient, as befits a Father, and is rewarded when her eyes return to him. He holds her gaze levelly, smiles, and extends his other hand towards her. “Trust me.”

For a moment she stands on the bank, staring at him, motionless. But her hand remains in his, and Joseph refuses to allow the shadow of fear and doubt to enter his heart.

Then, shuddering and gasping out a shaking breath, she takes a step forward and places her free hand in his.

Smiling brighter than the sun itself, Joseph squeezes her hands lightly and leads his lamb out, slowly and carefully, into the water, her wide eyes locked on his face as they wade deeper into the river's embrace. Soon he comes to a stop, the water lapping up around their hips as he pulls her close, running one hand over her hair again and coming to rest lightly on the back of her head, the other gently easing her chin up as he looked deeply into her eyes.

“You asked for my help.” He repeats, words soft as they gust across her face. “Is that truly what you wish?” The words tremble as they pass his lips, an ugly swell of Greed rising in his stomach. Joseph doesn’t _want_ to ask. Doesn’t want to risk that fear or misplaced loyalty will make her say ‘no.’ Will tear his lamb from his side and send her back down to the sinners and heretics of Hope County, to be dragged down into hell and damnation. But he _has_ to take the chance, knows that true Redemption can only be attained by one’s own choice. So Joseph pulls his child close and forces the words out. “Do you repent? Do you seek to atone for your sins, to cast them from you, forsake the evil of your past and embrace the true Path to Eden? Will you allow me to wash your sins from you, to bring you - new and clean and reborn - into our family?” He’s so afraid, suddenly, heart pounding in his chest as though to break free, and in a fit of desperation Joseph clasps her face firmly, staring down intently through her eyes and into her soul as he _begs_. _“Let me save you.”_

Pools of obsidian and emerald meet his gaze, her eyes swallowing him whole as agonizing seconds pass in silence.

Then, just as he thinks his heart is going to split in two…

_“Yes.”_

Relief floods through Joseph like salvation itself. Sighing, eyes falling shut, he leans down and presses their foreheads together again, breathing and drinking the taste and the feel and the sound of her. For a moment it all seems unbelievable, almost like the first time the Voice had spoken to him and he had _understood_ , had seen that there was a _reason_ for everything that had happened. That he wasn’t alone. And now that impossible joy and relief surges through him again as his lamb curls and leans into his touch, humming softly in peaceful satisfaction, trembling in anticipation of salvation. Accepting him. And in the blissful moment he can’t help but to _laugh_ , soft and pure, as he hold her close. To think that after everything – after all the desperate effort and savagery of his Heralds – all it took to redeem their greatest enemy was for _him_ to simply _ask_. That the precious child who now rests in his arms was simply _waiting_ for the offering of a gentle, loving hand to guide her to salvation. That the deceptively simple word John tried to tear from her lips with pain and fear and violence she now chooses to give freely to Joseph.

He cradles her gently, one hand supporting the back of her head as the other rises slowly to rest against her chest, just under her throat. And then, eyes still holding hers, Joseph lowers her beneath the surface of the river.

She stares up at him through the water, eyes filled with so much trust that he is made dizzy from it. He can feel her body shiver, from the cold, from the breath turning stale in her lungs, from the fluid embrace of the water and the solid weight of his hands. He feels the shivering intensify as he keeps her in the river, limbs twitching and chest shuddering as the seconds tick by. He feels her convulse, once, sees the flood of bubbles breach the surface of the water as her last breath tears free from her. And yet she doesn’t fight him, doesn’t try to break free and fight for breath, not even when her body begins to go limp and the fire in her eyes dims. His lamb remains still within his grasp, her eyes locked with his and still so full of perfect trust.

When – at last – he lifts her again from the river, she _convulses_ in his arms, heaving and gasping, coughing up water violently, retching, tears streaming down her face. And through it all Joseph holds her close, runs his hands over her back and arms and hair, resting his head against her crown and murmuring soothingly, his own tears of joy tracking down his cheeks to fall on her.

When the violence of her frail humanity eases, when she trembles and sinks into his embrace, head lolling against his shoulder, Joseph takes her hands in his once more. Slowly he lifts them, holds them up before her eyes, and breaths against her skin. “Look.”

He hears the tiny intake of breath, feels the shocked tremble that runs through her body like a bolt of lightning. He watches as she turns her trembling hands over and over before her eyes, fingers flexing and dancing slowly through the air as the clear water steams down her skin to drop back into its source. Slowly, tentatively, she brushes the pads of her fingers over her hands, tracing over her cleansed skin in disbelief. Suddenly she laughs – the sound lilting out into the air, artless and pure and beautiful in its sheer _joy_. She spins, nearly toppling into the water – saved only by the support of his arms – in her haste to turn towards him, lifting her hands up for his appraisal as she _smiles_ at him. And if that smile – brilliant, beautiful, artless, made otherworldly by its crooked, lopsided imperfection – isn’t one of the most beautiful things Joseph has ever seen… It takes his breath away, his pupils widening so abruptly that he can _feel_ the change, the sight of his lamb’s beautiful face and perfect smile elevated to something heavenly – _angelic_ – in her joyous salvation making him gasp, an unfamiliar warmth spreading through his body and making him shiver despite the sheer heat of it.

She beams up at him, oblivious to the strange sensations that roil under his skin as she displays her hands and arms – still tattered but clean and pure as driven snow, “It’s…”

Joseph tries to shake off the unfamiliar heat, smiles at her, takes her hands again and lifts them to press soft, chaste kisses to the inside of each wrist and palm. “It’s gone. Forgiven.” He releases her hands with strange reluctance to clasp her face again, cradling her gently as his thumbs rub soothingly over her cheeks and down to the corners of her lips, parted and gasping slightly now as she stares at him, something new bringing even greater warmth to the joy of her obsidian and emerald gaze. Heart thundering in his chest, warmth coiling thickly throughout him, Joseph leans down to press his head against hers. “This is all I ever wanted, little one.”

They stay like that for a moment, locked together, breath mingling and skin thrumming in harmony within the gentle embrace of the water, beneath the splendor of the night sky.

Finally, the cold of the water and the night that is slowly penetrating the haze of joy – and the still unidentifiable warmth – becomes too great to ignore and, with a reluctance that is shockingly painful, Joseph pulls back and begins to lead her towards the shore.

They only make it a few feet before his lamb slips, the cold and the Bliss stripping the usual grace of her powerful body.

Joseph turns immediately, the hand still holding hers pulling her close as his other darts out to catch her around the waist, hauling her towards him and – 

Their bodies press together and the strange heat _explodes_ within him, lightning singing through his nerves as he _feels_ her – a dizzying contradiction of soft curves and sculpted muscles – crush up against his chest, a timorous gasp escaping her lips and tickling against his Adam’s apple as her hands clutch desperately at his shirt. Someone _groans_ brokenly, and it takes Joseph a moment to realize that the raw, desperate sound came from _him_ , that realization leading to a cascade of understanding – that his hands are _clutching_ her, pressing her trembling body up against his own, that his skin is burning and slick and raw from a sudden _hunger_ , that his mouth has gone dry and his eyes have gone wide and the heat burning inside has pooled agonizingly in his stomach and is spiraling downward and – 

Joseph gasps, staring down into the equally shock eyes of his lamb as they stagger and shift in the water, the motion rubbing their bodies together and sending a new wave of _**Lust**_ through him.

He doesn’t… He _can’t_ … Merciful God, he simply _hasn’t_ felt anything like this since _his_ Faith was taken from him. Oh, he has been _tempted_ , certainly – the shameful scars that mark his skin testify to his disgracefully human frailties. But… but this? This is unlike anything he has felt in over _two decades_. Because, as he stares down at the girl, feels her body against his, he can’t help but feel that Lust is… is simply the wrong word for what he feels. Because he is confused, certainly. Shocked, _definitely_. But ashamed? No. Despite what he _knows_ Joseph doesn’t feel any of the shame or guilt that should accompany any sinful temptation. Because he holds his lamb in his arms and feels their bodies tremble in concert, meets her eyes with his own and sees the mirrored depth within them, feels her breath against his skin and tastes it as it gusts up over his face, and all Joseph can feel is a profound sense of _rightness_.

It is disorienting. Confusing. Goes against everything he knows and has been told, everything he has lived and taught, and he doesn’t understand how and _why_ these feelings have suddenly come upon him and – 

Something settles around him, a familiar pressure upon his soul, a sense of long suffering affection flavoring the words that suddenly spring within his mind.

_It is not good that the man should be alone; I will make him a helper fit for him._

Joseph’s jaw _drops_. “This…” It seems impossible. _So_ impossible that he can’t quiet wrap his mind around it, the Voice’s gentle revelation rattling disjointedly through his scrambling mind. “Is this why?” He lifts a hand to her face once more, stroking one beautiful cheek with a tender, trembling hand as he stares searchingly into her eyes. “Were you brought to me to…”

There’s something like the gentle press of a hand against the back of his head, and Joseph obeys without thinking, dipping his head to press his lips against his lamb’s in a chaste kiss.

He feels her gasp against him, lips quivering under his, and a sudden rush of _doubt_ sweeps through him. 

Shivering, uncharacteristically frightened, Joseph pulls back to meet her wide gaze. His lamb stares up at him, pupils so wide now that the green of her irises is nearly invisible, lips parted and gasping quietly mere inches from his, her hands trembling where they still clutch over his heart. 

And then, just as he is prepared to step back, she surges forward and crushes her mouth against his.

Joseph _groans_ into her mouth, one hand still clasping her face while the other flies up and runs through her hair, pulling her closer, and she is moving as well, one hand curling around to clutch at his back while the other mirrors his and flies up to thread through his hair, pulling and crushing his body down against hers as she arches and _writhes_ against him, and Joseph cries and whimpers into her as the kiss deepens. It is raw. Graceless. Almost primal in their shared hunger and desperation and _need_. Joseph feels like a starving man suddenly presented with every delicacy imaginable, and his lamb throws herself at him with all the passion and ferocity that she has used to fuel her campaign of destruction, slaking the agonizing hunger he hadn’t even realized he’d been living with. Their lips part for a moment, skin still brushing and breath and saliva still mingling as they gasp desperately, and then they return to one another, devouring each other’s mouths like wild beasts, bodies pressing together like a penitent’s hands in holy prayer.

He’s not sure how long they remain locked together, pressed against one another and kissing as though the other holds the secret of salvation within their lips. But, at last, they part, trembling and gasping and barely holding each other up, Joseph pressing his head against hers as she runs her lips hungrily across the skin of his jaw and cheeks, flirting and playing around his lips, her tongue flicking delicately out against his lower lip before she pulls it back within her mouth and _sucks_ lightly at it, Joseph’s eyes rolling back in his head as he shakes and _moans_ , a breathy laugh lilting up from her throat to curl around his sound of desire. Joseph clings to her, overwhelmed by the unfamiliar storm of pleasure, unable to do anything but hold his lamb and allow her to rock against him, her mouth hungrily worshiping across his skin. 

It’s been so _long_ since Joseph has known the touch of another in this way, and this reckless abandon that comes as easily to his lamb as breathing is so unlike what he had known with his sweet, tender Faith. The young woman in his arms catches his mouth again – once, twice, three times – and the need her touch spurs up within him is so great he begins to wonder whether he _should_ be ashamed after all.

No sooner has that thought occurred to him than the mantle of peace settles back upon his soul, a profoundly _amused_ surge of gentle exasperation washing over him, accompanied by the sense that he’s being rapped lightly on the head, a fond correction at his silliness, the Voice almost _teasing_ him as it sighs.

_Husbands, love your wives_

He gasps, rearing back in his shock to the audible displeasure of his…

His intended. 

His _wife_ -to-be.

Joseph looks upon the young woman before him with new eyes, staring in wonder at the angel that has been brought into his life.

She meets his gaze, still hungry and shivering from need and joy and… and _love_. Her powerful hands tease him gently, fingers tracing along his spine and twisting in his hair, pulling and coaxing him back towards her. She presses her body against him again, craning up slightly to tease his lower lip again.

A surge of raw _desire_ floods through him, burning away the chill of the water and the night air, boiling the blood in his veins as he looks at the woman before him and _wants_.

He wants to kiss her, again and again and again, until he forgets the taste of anything but her mouth. He wants to lay her down in the grass, beneath the stars, and unveil her, to shed his own garments and let them revel together, naked and unashamed in an Eden all their own. He wants to press his mouth against her skin, explore every inch of her, burn the map of her form into his skin and mind and heart and soul. He wants to bring his mouth to her core of passion, wants to _worship_ until every pain she has ever felt is drowned by pleasure, until every memory of sorrow and suffering is erased by his display of devotion. He wants to cover her body with his own, to enter her as a pilgrim entering a temple, to sink into her and pull her into him until they cease to be two beings, to see her gasp and sob and sing with joy and pleasure, to forge their holy union, to fill her with his love, to seal their covenant and cleave together, giving thanks and singing praises as they bring something new and beautiful and _pure_ into the world, a new gift for the new Eden they will walk towards _together_.

He _**wants**_.

But…

“ _No._ ” The word _hurts_ to say but, just as he knows that they have been chosen for one another, he knows that this brief temperance is necessary. No matter how much it _galls_ him. “No. No dearest.” He cradles her face, holding her back, and his intended keens in distress, looking up at him with betrayed frustration like a child being denied a much desired treat, and Joseph slams the door shut on _that_ metaphor the second it flitters through his mind. Breathing steadily – or, at least, as steadily as he can – he strokes her face soothingly, brushing his lips against the crown of her head, shivering at the breathy sigh that gusts over his neck before pulling back to smile comfortingly at her, a touch of wry, self-deprecating amusement rising into his expression. “I can hardly wash your sins away in one moment, only to lead you into Lust the next.”

She whimpers, mewls plaintively, looking up at him with her eyes - like twin eclipses outlined in green - still full of hunger. 

It takes every ounce of strength in his body to resist, and it occurs to Joseph that he may be in greater peril _now_ than he has ever been before. “Later, my lamb.” His blood is settling, the rest of his body following suit and realizing how cold it is, still up to their thighs in the water as they are, and he feels his control over himself begin to return. “When we have been made as one before God…” And isn’t _that_ the most beautiful thought. Joseph sighs, shivers, joyous anticipation welling up within his heart and soul, and when he risks temptation to brush his lips against her forehead, then pulls back to look down at her, there are tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. “Then. Then I will give you everything I have – everything I am.” Under his hands he can feel her shiver, the wild hunger in her eyes softening as he speaks, her smiling turning gently and dreamlike as she melts and nuzzles against his hands. Joseph is certain that his heart is about to burst from sheer happiness as he leans down, pressing his forehead against her. “I will be yours as you will be mine.” She breaths a low moan, echoing the joyous anticipation that has claimed his heart, her hands coming to rest lightly on his shoulders as they share a perfect moment of chaste intimacy. A few tears spill down his cheeks, and he whispers low for her alone, “Just as it was always meant to be.”

Then, slowly, Joseph shifts his hold, pulling her to his side and starting to lead them back to shore, his intended sighing in blissful peace and following, melting against him and letting her head fall to his shoulder.

Nuzzling against the top of her head, Joseph smiles through the tears of joy, his heart singing praises with more exultation than he thought possible as they walk, side by side, out of the river and towards Eden. “Come, my love. Let’s go home.”

**Author's Note:**

> _Joseph, **no**. **Bad** Joseph, that is **not** the way you're supposed to react when you find someone self-harming during a drug trip! Joseph, Joseph are you listening to me? Why are you like this?! Also, yeah, **sure** Joseph. This is **totally** going to play out the way you think it will. The Deputy's **totally** not going to lose it the **second** she comes down off the Bliss-high and react with fury, fists, and **fire**. Of course... there's always the fact that she'll be coming down off the Bliss-high while stranded alone in the heart of Peggy territory. Unarmed. Right next to a very driven crazy person with his own fanatically devoted cult who has decided that they're meant for one another and believes that his newly discovered feelings are **very** reciprocated, and who doesn't know the meaning of the words 'restraint' or 'limits' or 'no' when it comes to getting what he wants... Oh... Oh boy. That's..._
> 
> _Sigh. Anyway. Title, and the bit in the summary, come from the song "The River" by Blues Saraceno. It's amazing, and you should totally go listen to it._
> 
> _The words spoken by the Voice (and, sidebar, feel free to decide for yourself whether that's Joseph's subconscious coming up with justifications for what he's feeling, or whether the Voice [whatever it actually is] is totally real and hardcore ships Joseph/Deputy) are portions of Bible verses: "Then the LORD God said, 'It is not good that the man should be alone; I will make him a helper fit for him'" (Genesis 2:18), and "Husbands, love your wives, as Christ loved the church and gave himself up for her" (Ephesians 5:25). … I actually **looked up** Bible verses to find fitting ones for my dub-con drug-fueled insanity-riddled religion-gone-wrong pre-smut fanfic. I... I might actually be feeling shame right now. This has... never happened to me before._
> 
> _And on that note, I'm going to bury that mild discomfort in a shallow grave, get back to my main projects, and try to resist the urge to write a sequel. Until next time!_
> 
> _(Incidentally - It occurred to me while editing this that Joseph does not **once** refer to the Deputy by name [it's totally my girl Robin, btw]. This is hilarious to me on a number of levels, not the least of which being that I think this is my subconscious way of running with my personal theory that - despite having Fucking Nancy and presumably all the relevant documents and an army of soldiers and spies and just general word of mouth and random gossip/interrogation of Resistance members - the reason that the Seeds all refer to the Deputy by either title or nicknames is because they **legitimately** do not know the Deputy's real name. I know that's probably not it, that it's probably just because of player-immersion gameplay stuff... but I just find the thought so beautiful and hilarious that I'm not letting it go.)_


End file.
